


so would be fate (do not resuscitate)

by calibutts (abucketfullofnsfw)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT I JUST GRADUATED!!! I HAD FINALS AND I'M TIRED, F/M, Implied/Referenced Omorashi, Infantilism, LET ME WRITE MY SIN I HAVEN'T SLEPT IN LIKE A MONTH, Non-Sexual Age Play, sighs. oh boy here we go, that is the weirdest fucking tag i have ever typed and i want. to die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-03 00:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10955661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abucketfullofnsfw/pseuds/calibutts
Summary: "So that's it? You'refiringme?"[not....quite done yet. hit the end of the draft deadline and had to get it out. you're welcome to read it now but it definitely needs revision.]





	so would be fate (do not resuscitate)

**Author's Note:**

> i. really hate myself???? yes i do
> 
> this isn't done yet, dw. i had planned to make it a oneshot, but it's probably gonna be more of a... multichapter slowburn sort of thing. (as soon as i get around to updating it, of course. :P)
> 
> (disclaimer: i have no attraction to children. none of the characters depicted in this fic (or anywhere in the rvb canon) have any sexual or romantic attraction to children. i do not derive any sexual pleasure or satisfaction from anything described in this fic, or anything relating to the idea, or related ideas, of doing anything sexual to children - and neither do these characters, either. i (and they) just use this, platonically, nonsexually, to cope with emotional distress, and i will keep putting this in all my a/ns until fandom communities gain the ability to make the distinction between Actual Pedophillia/gross borderline ddlg stuff and like. people using nonsexual age regression to cope with previous traumas. bc right now? that is not happening.)
> 
> (mk i'm done tho. if you're still reading this, well done.)

There were probably a lot of things wrong with this.

Like, a lot of this. Dylan is fully aware that this is like, fifteen different levels of fucked up, by the way. She really does not need reminding. As far as Shitty Things She'd Done To Further Her Own Ends went, this was..... pretty much the worst. If not... literally the worst, as in, the worst possible outcome, as far as personal morality went. Pretty... not great. Not an experience worth repeating.

So she kind of shot him.  
  
Yeah. Okay. Bad move. Not that Dylan doesn't  _know_ that was a bad move, honestly. Probably damaged her relationship with the guy, honestly. As much as she doesn't  _get_ Jax, anyway, as much as she finds him nothing short of  _incredibly_ irritating, that is a very surface flaw and not one that really justifies.... well, shooting him.  
  
So yeah, she feels pretty bad.

On the plus side, it does get her entry into the Federal Army base, even if she is stuck in the infirmary kind of thing they've got going on here, for a while, and while this isn't really a great use of her time, and she would  _much_ rather be talking to President Kimball right now, it's.... still something of an advantage.  
  
Hopefully.

The doctor she's currently facing off against will not shut up, and it's kind of driving her up the wall, but Dylan, to her credit, is doing pretty well at keeping herself calm, here, she thinks, and if she just keeps repeating  _it's an advantage, it's an advantage_ to herself, in her head, maybe she might not snap and shoot this one too. (Okay. No, not a funny joke, but this really is getting circular, she thinks, and she is getting  _nothing_ out of this lady, god  _damn_ it, why won't she just take her to--)

"The President refuses to be interviewed?"

Dylan grits her teeth and tries not to think about the fact that she's just said that, like, literally three times already.

" _Yes_ \--"

"So you shoot your cameraman?"

Oh.

Well. Fuck. That's the first stone in the works, as it were, and it's enough to get an incredulous little "What?" out of her, at least, and Dylan somehow finds herself.... paralysed, from it, not even from nerves, or anxiety, just.... genuine surprise. She can't see into the other's helmet, of course (that's kind of the point of this armour, really) but she's sure that the doctor is either incredibly smug or incredibly disappointed. (She can't be.... sure. She uses the same, peppy, overly-happy intonation for everything. Dylan is starting to think she's a little bit unhinged.)

"He was shot, yes, but--"

(And forgive her, really, for not being able to process the onslaught of information that comes afterwards. Not that she doesn't understand it, of course, but it's fired at her in such a speedy, unrelenting pace, coupled with the fact that she's still a little unnerved that the doctor had guessed it at  _all_ , and it's the combination of both of those things that leaves her kind of grabbing at the words as they fly past, to a degree. Clotting? Something about clotting.) (Fuck. She didn't even know it was  _possible_ to even tell something like that--)

"Look--" To cut her off, here, because she really needs to be getting this back on topic, first of all "I  _really_ needed to talk to you."

And she's not entirely sure how it works, but... it does. Sort of. The doctor seems pretty reluctant to give her an in to interview the President, and it's not like Dylan can blame her for that, honestly. She supposes, from an objective viewpoint, that she hasn't exactly come off as trustworthy. (She also gets the feeling that the doctor has... personal biases. Mostly against the press. And it's not like she can blame her for that, either, but it does leave her wondering if there's a cause.)

Still, though, it gets her what she wants, she thinks, and while she doesn't manage to secure an interview with President Kimball, she does get the name of the UNSC diplomat said President is currently engrossed with trying to negotiate with, and... well, Dylan likes helping out where she can. Maybe a little bit of blackmail, here and there. Something like that. Free up Kimball's schedule. She can make it work.

(Probably.) (Hopefully.)

~*~

(As it turns out, it doesn't.)

The database brings up nothing for Alfred Packard, and an awkward call to her husband leaves her miserable and, for the moment, with no more information than she's started off with, and Dylan is left waiting around, for a while. It's not really a problem, for her. Jax needs another couple of days in the hospital, anyway. (It's nothing major - just a little tissue damage that they need to fix up. Dylan's mostly just glad that she didn't hit anything major.)

When she  _does_ get the information, though, eventually-- well, firstly it's quite surprising information, so thanks for that, James, but it does provide her with everything she needs for an effective blackmail, which is exactly what she needed, of course, and she puts her marital problems aside and rings the guy up and threatens an exposé. Kind of a journalistic callout post, if you will. 

(Within two hours, Alfred Packard reopens peace negotiations. Who knew.)

Kimball comes back to her, after that, thankfully, and that encounter is awkward and a lot more theatrical than was originally intended (and who just  _keeps_ an alien AI in their room like that, just for no reason, anyway) but it gives her what she needs, at least, even if she kind of gets the impression that the lady isn't exactly... fond of her. (Or doesn't trust her, or something... which again, she supposes they can't be blamed for. The whole planet seems to be a little uneasy with the idea of journalism, apparently. Who knew.)

Anyway. Kimball gives her what she needs, sends her away with some kind of message to give to the Reds and Blues (technically two favours, there, but never mind) and their transport is arranged for as soon as Jax can be discharged--

Or. Her transport, she supposes.

She does find herself thinking on that, near the end of her interview with President Kimball, and it's probably around when she should be leaving, really, as common courtesy would suggest, and by the looks of things Kimball is all but ready for her to leave (she seems like she's making a moement towards doing something else, something undoubtedly a little more worth her time) and while Dylan is trying to be polite, here, and not cause any more trouble, it does sort of beg the question.

"Uh... listen." And during the small break, there, during which President Kimball turns back to her, offers a quiet, reserved "Yes?", Dylan finds her words.

"I don't.... think Jax is going to come with me." Which he probably... isn't. Perhaps he could be convinced, she thinks, but it's best to prepare herself for the eventuality. "Uh. Is there any way we could... I don't know, drop him off at home, or--"

Kimball cuts her off, there. "There's a public transit service operating from the main docking bay. He should be able to get a ride back. If not, let us know. We'll arrange something to take him straight back."

"Got it." She's not entirely sure where Jax lives, exactly, but she knows where Carlos lives, and.. well, Jax can find his own way hope, at least, she supposes. (She does feel a little morally obligated to chaperone him, all things considered, but..... she's not entirely sure that he'd want her to.)

(Which, again, she supposes she can't blame him for.)

Still, it leaves her... stuck, now. She can't very well leave until Jax is discharged (she supposes she  _can_ , but.... it wouldn't be fair) and even with morality aside, she gets the notification, later, that their transport was arranged for afterwards regardless, which leaves a lot of time sitting around and doing fuck all.

Though, she supposes, that leaves a lot of time for reflection, and with nothing else left to do, for now, until Jax is well and off the morphine and able to walk again, Dylan finds herself back at the General Hospital, back to his station. (Because where else could she go, at this point? She might as well talk to him, try to make it up to him, maybe--)

Or not, apparently.

He's asleep, she notices, which kind of puts a damper on her plans. Never mind. He's comfortable, at least, or he looks it, and it does actually look like he's in a bed, this time, rather than whatever weird table thing he was laying on the last time she saw him. There's a blanket over him, covering him from the waist down (and a pillow, too, conveniently) and he's laying on his front (and he'd have to be, she thinks, considering) and kind of hugging it. And perhaps it's because he's been here a little while, by now, and it's getting late, but he's not wearing his armour, this time - and it occurs to her, as she watches him, that she hasn't actually seen him without it, yet. He's.... cute, she thinks, in a sort of juvenile, at least ten years too young for her sort of way. Still kind of a little round, around the face, in a little kid way - she'd say it almost looked feminine, but, assuming male genetics, here, it was probably more just an aspect of prepubescence that had kind of slipped under the developmental radar. His hair's cut into a neat little bob, that she'd estimate probably ends somewhere between his chin and his shoulders -  _cut_ neatly, probably, no split ends in sight, but it needs a damn good brush. Kid's obviously been asleep for a while.

It occurs to her, now, that he's very definitely young, younger than she'd thought, nineteen, or around there, and she'd known that, of course, but it hadn't really sunk in, until now. She hadn't been quite so... aware of it.

Poor kid. He's definitely not going to want to come home with her. 

Still. Never mind. She told herself she'd deal with the consequences, and that is exactly what she's going to do - and it's with that in her head that Dylan turns to leave--

And stops.

And moves in, then, pulls the blanket up to cover Jax's shoulders, stares at him, for a few minutes, and wonders whether this job, this field, is kind of messing with her morality - or her ability to feel empathy. (First James, now this.) (Or maybe first this and then James, being that she shot Jax first, before she called her husband and totally brushed him off in favour of the advantage, but... technicalities.)

(Either way, Dylan leaves and decides she doesn't really want to think about it.)

~*~

Jax is discharged surprisingly early, with all things considered.

Dr Grey meets her outside his... station, cubicle thing (she's not entirely sure of the technical term, come to think of it) with a surprising amount of enthusiasm, considering the state of the poor guy - Dylan would almost accuse her of being  _too_ happy about it, maybe even taking a sick enjoyment in the idea of other people's suffering, perhaps (or a morbid fascination with it, anyway) but then again, she  _was_ the one who shot him, so she doesn't really think she can call kettle about this, exactly.

"I'm sure he'll be  _fine_."

Which is reassuring, Dylan thinks, except she had already sort of made the assumption. Dr Grey takes another look at the clipboard in hands, tilts her head a little, almost as if she's not entirely sure of the information she's reading off it - which, again, is a little worrying, considering that she put it there.

(Yeah. This place is starting to give Dylan the creeps.)

"There'll be scarring. Quite a lot of tissue build-up. You picked a good place to shoot him, Miss Andrews. Luckily for you, you didn't hit anything major." Not appearing to see Dylan wince (and she does, because this isn't exactly making her feel any better) Dr Grey carries on. "Technically speaking, it was actually probably the safest option. Getting shot in a muscle doesn't send the body into shock the same way. All that would happen was a little renal failure, providing that you didn't get him to a medical outpost in time-- which you did, so well done-- and posterial muscles are some of the biggest in the body. It would have provided a lot of cushioning for the bullet to get through before it hit the femoral artery and did any damage."

And tilting her head, again, now, this time at Dylan, "Did you know all of that?"

And Dylan can't provide anything except for a quiet, if somewhat taken aback, "...No."

Dr Grey shrugs, looks back down at her clipboard. "Well, then, it was a lucky guess. Anyway," As if this was of no concern, for her, which Dylan also finds a little worrying, how  _casual_ about all of this she is, the doctor continues.

"Anyway. We have quite advanced medical technology here, Miss Andrews, so you shouldn't need to worry too much about recovery. He should be alright for standing and walking, just.... try and make sure he doesn't run anywhere, for the moment." Pausing for breath, then, long enough for Dylan to provide a weak "Okay," before powering through, "Some of the tests we ran on him showed a little inflammation in the lungs and the trachea. Probably just a little asthma, I'm going to assume undiagnosed? It wasn't on any of the records... though I don't suppose it should be too much of a problem. I've given him a few supplies to go away with, just in case. If he does somehow have an attack, you can always bring him back." She's talking too fast, again, for Dylan to really, fully process what she's saying - not that she doesn't understand, of course, she's educated enough, medically, and it's not that it's too complicated for her. It's half the speed, and half.... everything else. She's just about processed the last part of that sentence, and about to give a reply (and what kind of medical disorders does Jax even  _have_ , he never mentioned, and nobody else told her, either) Dr Grey has, apparently, moved on.  
  
"Oh, and--" Lowering her voice, a little, now, though from _who_ , Dylan has no idea, ""Between us, don't worry about that other little problem, either, okay? He should be just fine. Just make sure he sleeps on his front, for the time being, maybe wake him up every few hours? Every three or four, I think, that should be alright, it's more about disturbing the dressing than anything else--"

And Dylan, finding her words, this time, cuts her off.

"What problem?"

And there's a silence, then, and it's.... awkward. Quite long. Probably only lasts a few minute, in the great scheme of things, but conversationally? That's a long fucking time. And it's not that Dylan can see the expression under the helmet, either (though said helmet is twitching, a little, so she can only assume Dr Grey is moving her head, under there - maybe talking to herself?) and she's just about to break it and apologise for... whatever inconvenience she's just created, here, whatever brought the conversation to a standstill, before Dr Grey looks back up at her and does it herself.

"I... think I've probably said enough?"

Almost like she's embarrassed. She's definitely made an assumption about  _something_ , Dylan thinks, and she watches as the doctor coughs, obviously flustered, now, and waves her hand in a vague sort of gesture. "Never mind. He's fine, okay? I'll leave you two to reconcile. Um...." Pausing, stilling, for a moment, "I'd... better go let them know you're leaving! Uh. Have a safe journey."

And just like that, she's gone, and Dylan stands there, for a moment, staring at the spot where she  _was_ (she'd hardly ran, but it was an abrupt exist, which just adds to the suspicion, really) before brushing it off, as best she can, and making her way back over to where Jax is.

He's awake, this time, she notices, sat up on his bed. He's wearing most of his armour, his helmet in his lap (she mentally notes that his hair needs brushing, and then decides that's completely irrelevant) and she notices he's carrying a bag, too, the contents mostly comprised of varying-in-size white boxes. He's just sat there, as she comes in, looking at the floor and swinging his legs, and it takes a while for him to notice her (and she's about to cough, or something, just to get his attention) but when she does, he looks up at her and  _smiles_.

"Hey."

Like he's excited to see her. Dylan almost considers taking her helmet off just so she can clutch her hair in a completely unrefined fashion.

"Hi." A little quieter, definitely, and then "Jax, I'm sorry," because she  _is_ , she feels _terrible_ , and it feels like the most appropriate thing to say, right now.

Jax face falls a little.

"For what? Is... everything okay?"

"Everything." Bit of a dumb question, but alright. "Listen, I'll talk to you when we get out of here, okay? I'll take you to the...." She can't quite remember what Kimball had called it - some kind of spaceship terminal. He'd be able to go home, from there, she knows that much. "Let's just... let's just go."

Jax stands, then, as she moves - and Dylan pauses, then, sort of hovers in the doorway.

"What, uh. What's that?"

Gesturing to the bag, then, and Jax looks down at it, as she does, and she could swear he  _pales_ , almost, just a little, before shrugging and looking back up at her.

"I'unno. Medical stuff? I didn't really understand anything she was saying." Which sounds... plausible, for Jax, but the way he's  _saying_ it is off, making her feel a little uneasy. She's kind of getting the impression there's something they're not telling her, here. Dylan looks back at the bag, tilting her head a little for what feels like a better view. It's a reasonable estimation, anyway, and she's definitely not a medic, by any means - though she  _would_ say it was a little big for a couple of inhalers.

"For the, uh. Asthma?" And Jax is quiet, for a fraction of a second too long, and when he replies there's a slight little stammer on it.

"Y-Yeah? I think so? Uh." Like he doesn't know? "Yeah."

"Alright." Doesn't matter. Not her mystery. It's not like the guy's coming with her. And that's probably it, actually. It's probably less that he's hiding something and more that he's just straight up uncomfortable around her. Which she.... supposes she can't blame him for. Whole thing... is kind of her fault, after all. (Shame, really, she thinks. He seems... harmless, for his ineptitude. She can't really afford to grant herself the mental space to care for it, at the moment, but she feels bad, all the same.)

(Still. Never mind. She's sure she'll manage.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaand this is why everyone else hates me as well. ~~(also the fact i'm a latent furry but never mind that.)~~
> 
> don't ask me what this is i wrote it while listening to cheap thrills on repeat and crying


End file.
